Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  “Take as long as you wish,” Charles interrupted, with a wave of his hand. “For I have just seen my good friend, Lord Mowbray, arrive at this very moment!” His eyes lit up as his friend waved a hand in his direction. “Do excuse me, Miss Wade, Lord Featherstone.”

  Turning his back on the two of them, he hurried towards Lord Mowbray, who was the youngest son of a viscount but had recently inherited the title from his elder brother who sadly passed away of fever. Mowbray had been in mourning for many months, but to see him in London again must mean that the grieving period was at an end.

  “Mowbray!” Charles exclaimed, greeting his friend jovially. “You cannot know how good it is to see you, although I confess that calling you by such a name has quite addled my mind! I keep wishing to refer to you as Putter, as you once were.” He grinned as Lord Mowbray shook his head, slapping Charles on the shoulder.

  “It has taken some getting used to,” Lord Mowbray admitted, his grey eyes glancing all around Hyde Park as he carefully patted his thick dark hair with one hand as though ensuring it was all in place.

  “And you have come to London for the little Season?” Charles asked, not even realising that he had quite forgotten about Miss Wade with the excitement of seeing his good friend again. “Are you looking for a game of cards or two? I have not played since my arrival a few days ago, although, I confess, I would be glad of a game.”

  To his surprise, Lord Mowbray shook his head, his jaw set. “I’m afraid, Ingraham, that such things are beyond me now. I must take on the duties of the title with every responsibility.” His jaw worked for a moment and he sighed. “No, it shall be matrimony and the pursuit of heirs for me, I’m afraid.”

  Charles gaped at him, astonished at the change he saw in his friend. Last time he had been in London with Lord Mowbray—or Mr Putter, as he had been then—they had enjoyed the delights of the Season without any consideration for anything serious. Now, it seemed things had changed for Lord Mowbray in a way Charles had not expected.

  “You need not look so shocked,” Lord Mowbray grimaced, his cheeks a little flushed. “I need an heir to continue the line, especially given that my brother died without so much as finding a wife!” He sighed again and rubbed his forehead as though to erase the lines there. “I imagine that you are here in London to do the same?”

  A chilly wind wrapped over Charles’s shoulders, reminding him of the real reason he was in London. Immediately concerned and berating himself for forgetting about his charge, he turned his head to see Miss Wade standing next to Lord Featherstone, as stiff as a board. She was not smiling, her face appeared to be rather grey, and her eyes were squinting. He could not understand it—until he saw her curtsy yet again to someone she had only just been introduced to. The pain in her back must be excruciating after the bumpy carriage ride, curtsies and generally standing around for hours.

  The desire to go and rescue her burned in his blood.

  “I think, Mowbray, that I may have just the lady for you,” he muttered, unable to remove his gaze from Miss Wade for even a single moment. “That is, if you would like me to make the introductions?”

  His heart sank to his toes as he saw the way his friend’s eyes lit up at the notion, although he could not explain why.

  “You have someone in mind?” Lord Mowbray asked, interested. “I would much prefer to be introduced to a suitable young lady rather than have to dance with, converse, and generally entertain a variety of young ladies in the hope that one might accept my suit.”

  Charles could not help but grin. “Indeed, I understand. In fact, I have a young lady here that I am… assisting.” He did not quite know how to explain it, seeing his friend’s astonished glance. “It is all rather complicated, and I will, of course, explain it to you in its entirety at some point, but needless to say, I am helping Miss Wade during her little Season. It is her wish and my hope that she will be engaged before Christmas Day.”

  “Which is not too far away,” Lord Mowbray muttered, as Charles fixed his gaze upon Miss Wade once more, seeing her winced in consternation as Lord Featherstone took her arm without even asking the lady and began to march across the park towards them again. Being rather tall, he held Miss Wade’s arm at an angle, forcing her to walk in a most uncomfortable manner, which, Charles could see, only created more discomfort for her.

  “Do excuse me.”

  He moved without thinking, hurrying towards Miss Wade in the hope of being able to rescue her from Lord Featherstone just as soon as he could. He had been quite foolish to forget about her presence here in Hyde Park, foolish to think that Lord Featherstone would be able to take adequate care of her when the fellow had no notion of what the lady had already endured.

  “Miss Wade,” he said breathlessly, as Lord Featherstone came to a stop. “Are you—”

  “Thank you, Lord Featherstone,” Miss Wade interrupted, sliding her hand out from under his arm and immediately stepping away from him, although Charles saw her stagger slightly. “You are very kind.”

  Immediately, Charles offered the lady his arm as a substitute, and Miss Wade accepted it at once, leaning on him heavily.

  “I do hope to dance with you tomorrow evening, Miss Wade,” Lord Featherstone replied with a smile. “I have very much enjoyed your company.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, without agreeing to dance with him. “Good afternoon, Lord Featherstone.”

  Seeing that this was his cue to leave, Charles led Miss Wade away and back towards his friend, Lord Mowbray, who was staring at them both with wide eyes.

  “Are you quite all right?” Charles asked, in a hoarse whisper, aware of just how slow and pained her steps were.

  “Miss Wade?”

  “I think I will need to return to the carriage,” she whispered back, her pallor alarming him. “Might we go, Mr Ingraham?”

  “But of course.”

  Beckoning to Lord Mowbray, Charles was relieved when his friend came over at once, his eyes alive with concern.

  “Might you take Miss Wade’s other arm?” he asked, shooting his friend a look that told him to ask no questions.

  “Come, Miss Wade, the carriage is just over here.”

  Wishing that he could slip an arm about her waist, Charles quickly and quietly walked Miss Wade back towards their waiting carriage, and together, the two gentlemen ensured that she was sitting back against the squabs, her eyes closing almost at once.

  “Is she ill?” Lord Mowbray asked, his gaze still lingering on Miss Wade through the carriage window. “Is there something the matter?”

  Charles hesitated for a moment. This was not his truth to tell. In fact, he did not know whether or not Miss Wade would want such knowledge shared, but then again, he reasoned, Lord Mowbray was his very dear friend and quite able to keep a secret. If Lord Mowbray was here to find a wife for himself, and if he was interested in Miss Wade, then would it not be best for him to know everything?

  Despite the warning in his mind, Charles drew in a long breath before quickly sketching out the details of what had occurred recently. Lord Mowbray appeared to be overcome by horror, his eyes widening with shock when Charles told him about the damage the despicable gentleman had reeked on Miss Wade’s back.

  “And you are posing as her cousin to remove her from Lord Faversham and her uncle,” Lord Mowbray finished slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That is something of a risk, Ingraham.”

  “And one I am willing to take,” Charles replied firmly. “Should you have been there, Mowbray, should you have heard that beating and her cries thereafter, you would not have been able to remain unmoved.”

  Lord Mowbray nodded slowly; his eyes still fixed on the lady. “I understand.”

  “I must ask you to keep this to yourself, my friend,” Charles insisted, as Lord Mowbray nodded again. “You cannot tell anyone of the truth of this, for fear of what her uncle might do should he find out.”

  “But of course,” Lord Mowbray replied, stepping aside to let Charles open the c
arriage door in order to climb inside.

  “Might I call upon her, do you think?”

  Charles found himself hesitating, although he could not say why. Of course, Lord Mowbray could call upon Miss Wade! That was what he wanted, was it not? That was why he had taken Miss Wade to London in the first place, why, unbeknownst to her, he had spent money purchasing her the gowns she would need for a successful Christmas season.

  “Certainly,” he replied, wondering at the slowness of his words. “Mayhap tomorrow or the day after. I think Miss Wade will need to rest this afternoon.”

  Something flickered in Lord Mowbray’s expression, which Charles made out to be something like mirth. He did not quite understand it, choosing to climb back into the carriage and close the door without commenting on it further.

  “I will write,” Lord Mowbray called, as Charles rapped on the roof. “Where is she staying?”

  “With Lady Christiana,” Charles replied, through the carriage window. “Lady Christiana Thayne, wife of Mr Aaron Thayne.”

  Lord Mowbray grinned, now looking a good deal better than when Charles had first spotted him.

  “Thank you, Charles. I shall see you both again very soon.”

  Charles did not reply, lifting a hand in farewell before turning towards Miss Wade, who still lay quietly with her eyes closed.

  “Julianna?” he whispered softly, as though speaking aloud might hurt her further. “I apologise for taking such liberties,” he continued.

  She waved away his concern. On a day like today, whether or not someone used her Christian name or a title mattered little to her.

  “I am so terribly sorry for neglecting you. I did not think that…”

  “You need not apologise,” she replied, her eyes flickering open to fasten upon his. “You did everything perfectly, Mr Ingraham. I thank you.”

  He did not smile, seeing the agony lined in her face. “Lord Featherstone is not the gentlest of men, I think.”

  A wry smile touched one corner of her mouth. “He insisted on keeping one hand on my back whenever I curtsied,” she whispered, her eyes now closing again. “It was as though he wanted to make it quite apparent to the other gentlemen I was introduced to that he intended to call upon me. Not that he asked to do so, however. And no.” She opened one eye to fix it on him. “No, he was not the gentlest of gentlemen, Mr Ingraham. But then again, I cannot expect everyone to be as tender as you.”

  His breath caught as Miss Wade closed her eyes again, feeling heat rising in his chest. He did not know why nor what to make of his own reaction, confused over what he felt. Unable to prevent himself, he reached forward and took her hand in his. Seeing it lying quietly in his own, his heart began to pound as he pressed her hand between his, thinking that Miss Julianna Wade was the most beautiful and the most wonderful young lady he had ever had the opportunity to meet.

  So why was he so reluctant to allow even Lord Mowbray the chance to greet her and call upon her? Why had he hesitated when his friend had asked such a thing? It made very little sense, given that the reason he had come to London was to find her a suitable husband. Lord Mowbray would be exactly that, Charles was quite sure of it, for he knew his friend well. Whilst Lord Mowbray had once enjoyed a good deal of gambling and the like, he now appeared to have resigned himself to settling down, and Charles could think of no better lady than Miss Julianna Wade.

  “I believe Lord Mowbray—the gentleman who helped you into the carriage—is eager to call upon you, Julianna,” he stammered, wondering why he felt such awkwardness in speaking so. “I think he will write later this afternoon, if not tomorrow, in order to arrange it.”

  Slowly, Miss Wade opened her eyes and pushed herself up into a better sitting position, removing her hand from his.

  Charles felt the loss of her hand in his almost at once. He was surprised at the stab of pain in his heart.

  “Lord Mowbray is a friend of yours?”

  “A good man,” he assured her, seeing the way her blue eyes were slightly shrouded. “He is not a gentleman who will ever treat you unkindly, Julianna. He has only just taken the title and has come to London in search of a wife.”

  To his surprise, Julianna did not appear to be as delighted with this news as he had expected. “I will not be keeping my promise to my mother,” she sighed to herself, looking out of the carriage window. “But perhaps in these circumstances that cannot be helped. Perhaps that will come in time.”

  Confused, he sat back in his seat and regarded her carefully. “Your promise?” he asked, seeing how her eyes flashed towards his, a faint rosiness darkening her cheeks. “You have never told me of this before.”

  She shook her head, looking a little abashed. “It is nothing,” she said, evidently trying to persuade him to forget it. “Something that I promised my mother before she died, but it cannot be helped I suppose.” Pain rushed across her expression like a wave but was gone in a moment.

  “If Lord Mowbray is a good man in your estimation, Mr Ingraham, then I shall, of course, consider him. When did you say he would call?”

  “Tomorrow,” Charles replied, with a dull weight settling over his heart. “If not the next day. I do think you should give him a good amount of consideration, Miss Wade. He may be the perfect match for you.”

  Miss Wade’s smile was tight, her gaze drifting away from him. “I shall,” she promised, leaving Charles wondering why this development, instead of happiness and relief, seemed to bring him only pain.

  SEVEN

  “Lord Mowbray, how very good to meet you again.” Julianna put a bright smile on her face as Lord Mowbray walked into Lady Christiana’s drawing room, aware that Mr Ingraham had also risen to his feet.

  Last evening, after ensuring that she was quite well, he had insisted that she refer to him as Ingraham, telling her that there was already such a strong acquaintance between the two of them that it would not be in any way overfamiliar—as well as the fact that, as cousins, as they were pretending to be, it might be more believable to those that they met should there be that obvious familiarity.

  Julianna had wanted to inform Mr Ingraham that he was also to call her Julianna but had realised that he had done that of his own accord, although she was quite sure he had done so without realising it. She did not mind. In fact, she rather welcomed it, feeling it warm her heart and bring to mind just how close she and Ingraham had become these last few days.

  Greeting one another, Julianna quickly retook her seat, her back still recovering from the previous day’s activities in Hyde Park. Lady Thayne greeted everyone and then excused herself, citing the fact that she was to go out walking with her husband, although she was quite sure that Julianna would do marvellously in ensuring the gentlemen were both well taken care of. Her maid, Florence, was sitting in the corner already, as additional propriety measures, although Julianna felt as though she did not need it given that Ingraham was, by appearances at least, something of a chaperone.

  “I am sorry we did not get to make the proper introductions the last time we met,” Lord Mowbray said, with a warm smile in her direction.

  A little embarrassed, she glanced away from him, her hands tightening in her lap.

  “You need not apologise, Lord Mowbray. I’m afraid I was not feeling quite myself yesterday afternoon.”

  Mr Ingraham rose to his feet and walked to ring the bell for tea, as though he were the master of the house. “You are recovered today, I hope?” he asked, sitting back down and fixing his intense gaze upon her, sending her heart into a quickening rush.

  “Yes,” she murmured, aware of the sudden flurry of emotions that swam through her from just a look. “I am much recovered, thank you, Ingraham. My maid, Florence, has been most attentive.” She could see that he understood, given the approving nod in Florence’s direction as she sat in the corner of the room darning.

  Lord Mowbray cleared his throat, drawing her attention again. “Ingraham has, as I am sure you are aware, informed me of the reason for your weakness.”<
br />
  It felt like a bolt of lightning flew from Lord Mowbray’s mouth and hit her hard, freezing her into her seat. Ingraham had spoken to his friend about her injuries, about what she had been forced to endure? And he had not once asked her whether he could do so? Her stomach twisted painfully, her wounds suddenly burning with a deep fierceness that she could not easily push away.

  “I’m afraid I had very little choice,” she heard Ingraham say, perhaps aware of her sudden, cold silence. “You see, Miss Wade, Lord Mowbray saw your pallor yesterday and became concerned over it.”

  “And this negates the need to pretend that you are Ingraham’s cousin,” Lord Mowbray added, in something of an apologetic voice. “I know the man very well, and I would have found it very suspicious if he had not mentioned such a thing to me before. After all, a lady of your beauty would have surely been mentioned by Ingraham before now, for he would have, most likely, wanted to have you on his arm by way of garnering certain attentions from other ladies of the beau monde.”

  The smile on Lord Mowbray’s face did nothing to remove the frustration and upset from Julianna’s heart.

  “I quite understand,” she managed to say smoothly, glancing towards Ingraham for just a moment. “You are very kind to say so, Lord Mowbray.”

  “I do hope that you will allow me a dance with you this evening, Miss Wade?” Lord Mowbray asked, after a moment of silence. “You are to attend Lady Thorndike’s ball, are you not?”

  “I am,” she replied, a trifle hesitantly. “However, I cannot say that I will be able to do any of the more energetic movements, Lord Mowbray. However, I may, perhaps, try one of the quieter dances.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Lord Mowbray murmured, his grey eyes seeming to linger on her for just a fraction too long before he turned to Ingraham. “I am quite sure you will be in attendance too, Ingraham, although most likely at the card table?”

  Ingraham muttered something under his breath, although his lips curved ruefully. Julianna, a little surprised, watched this exchange closely, suddenly realising that Ingraham was not at all inclined towards finding himself a wife if what Lord Mowbray had said was to be believed. The gentleman must, therefore, simply live his life playing cards and attempting to either lose or procure more funds for himself. Her stomach dropped another notch.